


Sof þú vel

by nahul



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Funerals, Gen, Grief, Loki & Thor Friendship (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki needs a resurrection too but we won't talk about that, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Sad, Set after infinity war, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, originally deleted this but its back yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahul/pseuds/nahul
Summary: good night; sleep well.





	Sof þú vel

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO BASICALLY I'm reposting this because I deleted it and I forgot why I deleted it but here we are, we live in a society.  
> In honour of endgame coming in like 2 weeks i'm reposting I guess don't flame.  
> Wrote originally like,, right after infinity war because I had a bone to pick.

**Sof þú vel**   
[ _ ancient norse. _ ] ↬ _ good night; sleep well. _

* * *

 

A shuddering breath.

  
It was the only audible noise in the empty room, his breath ricocheting off the walls and reminding him of his solitude evermore, reinforcing a stab wound that had gone so deep he didn’t know where it ended. He knew not whether he despised his solitude, his isolation, or found a strange sort of comfort within it. Not that the comfort was something palpable, not something viable or easily accessible; perhaps it was somewhere underneath the rippling layers of murky caliginous darkness that blanketed his being. A grief so dark and black that it had marred his soul, dragged him so low that he knew not even how he could bare to stand. He knew not what well of power he’d summoned that permitted him to still stand.

Perhaps it was some sort of sick, twisted evidence that he was the strongest avenger. 

He clutched nothing in his hands sans for a lone bouquet. Flowers woven together in pretty patterns, almost too perfectly, as though the stems had mockingly sewn themselves together in some sort of taunting attitude towards Thor. But it was the only thing he had left to press down onto the boat. For he could no longer trust his once sturdy hands with anything more precious than a bouquet of flowers for fear that the item would collide with the ground and break into a thousand pieces.

Or perhaps it was the sheer fear that he,  _ that Thor, _ would be the one crashing and breaking. That he would be the one bursting into a million different shards. 

Though a small part of him wondered why that would be considered such an issue. After all, his entire world, every single piece of a perfectly fit puzzle had been torn apart. Someone had taken his world and shaken it up like a snow globe before rejecting it and throwing it to the floor with scorn.

His heart. Oh,  _ his heart _ and how it  _ ached. _ Pounding against his chest louder and louder as though his very own hammer had taken up residence within the cages of his ribs, replacing the cavity in his chest with a loud pounding that was relentless. His heart,  _ oh his heart _ , reduced to nothing but a molten core of him that was beginning to leak out before him. Brimming with all these emotions, so many emotions that he knew not what to make of them, nor what to do with them sans for allowing them to spill out.

A cascade. A waterfall of emotions. Emotions. Anger. Frustration. Sorrow, grief, mournfulness. The melancholic monotony of a heartbreak that rested heavily down on his chest, pushing back these emotions into him and causing a tsunami of grief to tumble down on him with no shield. No protection. Just a raw, bitterness of grief that gnawed away at whatever liquid emotion was spilling from his heart, embodying itself in tears and restless sleep and passing days that went without food nor people nor anything but this  _ pain. _

Pain ravaging against his chest, pummelling him relentlessly like a pouring rain that wouldn’t give up attacking the ground. Each beat of his heart managed to knock another breath from his body, and his knees could barely hold up his body; this aching, breaking body of his.

Perhaps he wasn’t the strongest. After all, who deserves such a title when they don’t even contain the strength to rescue their own  _ brother? _

A shaking hand released the bouquet. The flowers looking so out of place, delicate whites in a room full of anguish, subtle creams and soft petals against the harsh canvas of the universe; nature brushing up against the product of the vile nature of the preternatural emotion known as  _ greed _ and the disgustingly harsh reality of  _ death. _

They looked up at him. And he tried his best not to look at the corpse that lay beside the flowers, not even wanting to meet the recipient of these flowers. Not like this. A goodbye, or something of a last goodbye, yet not an ‘au revoir’ - not a ‘til we meet again’. More a goodbye. A firm, eternal sending off.

A farewell, and an unrequited one at that.

For the last words. His last words. They weren’t a goodbye, no. They were something of a promise. A knife of a lie wrapped in a sheath of hope that Thor had so desperately tried to cling to during the passing of time, but with every hour that inched by, every tormentingly torturous hour that ticked by he could feel his grasp on said promise failing him. What had once been a firm hope had been replaced with a reality that had dragged him through the dirt.

Yet he was still waiting. For something akin to a fulfillment of them words.

Flowers. Pale, soft petals caressing cold skin. They didn’t belong. They looked out of place, but so did everything in this horrible boat. Those flowers, the pure embodiment of death against such a figure. It was immoral, evil to its core; going against the very laws of nature itself. For Loki did not belong there. 

The same way the smooth petals of lilies don’t belong in graveyards.

Petals brushed against his skin. Cold skin. Thor didn’t dare to trace the corpse with his eyes. But he knew, he knew that they were with him, a last gift before he sent him off into Valhalla. And as they brushed up against his skin, he could feel the bite of the wind raise the hairs on his neck.

A whisper of a breeze.

“I assure you, brother, the sun will shine on us again.”

A bitter breeze, one that rattled his bones and the very core of him. Much befitting for a twisted, broken promise.


End file.
